Last night ended at about 1:30 a.m. with an odd food chain of sorts. Fish were drawn to the Thompson by the ship's lights. Squid came to feed on the fish; a young seal arrived playfully on the scene to take full advantage of the situation; and I was drawn to the rail, awestruck, and smiling, having seen the ocean floor and all of its wonders for the first time.

Just before 9 p.m., ROPOS arrived on the bottom and there they were: shrimp, basalt, spider crabs, bacterial mats, tubeworms, shimmering water, snails, sulfide chimneys, black smokers -- just like everyone had said, just like in the photos, but I was seeing it with my own eyes. Like a little kid, I was tempted to jump up and scream, but it's not in my nature and it didn't seem right, sitting in this close and dimly lit, small room, packed with bodies like a subway car at rush hour. Oh look, there's that tubeworm patch. I know where we are. Isn't that Phang? Gee, it hasn't changed much. For the old hands, it was like going home for Christmas, triggering a comforting sense of place, memories of cruises past, and a quiet and slightly nervous anticipation. I contained myself, drumming furiously and quietly on my knees, while we all -- geologists, engineers, pilots, technicians, navigators, teachers, film crew, and members of the ships crew -- riveted our attention on the many monitors scattered around the room. Maneuvers with the vehicle, telemetry issues, sulfide chimney renamings, and several chain saw trials followed.

My watch ended at midnight, but I couldn't pull myself away. In the end, the dive was aborted and I went out on the deck. I stared down at the cobalt blue water, watching the waves and the life below. Out of nowhere, I found myself wiping tears from my eyes, tired, surprised, and overcome by the power of discovery and a loss of innocence.

Myles Gordon